By Any Other
by aliarose
Summary: Michael and the power of name


Title: By Any Other  
  
Author: Alianora  
  
Email: alia@silverspiral.net  
  
Summery: What's in a name?  
  
Spoilers: none  
  
Disclaimer: *checks tag in Michael's jeans* M-A-R-I-A. Nope, still not mine.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Names are weird. Did you know every name has a meaning behind it? It can mean son of somebody, or by the hill, or hope or prayer or gift.  
  
I wasn't born with the name Michael.  
  
Hell, I wasn't even born in the normal sense of the word.  
  
But there it is. Michael. Mickey. Mike. Something.  
  
I don't even know what my name used to be before Michael. I had to have had a name before Michael, though. I know that much.  
  
I just wish I knew what it was. And what it meant. Of course, with my luck, it is something completely unpronounceable that means "Nobody important."  
  
The cop that found me asked me that first off. "What's your name, boy?" Of course, I had no idea that was what he said, I didn't know how to talk, and English sounded like a big confusing mess.  
  
I figured it out though, eventually. Alien powers come in handy for some stuff. I learned how to talk real quick. And that was always the first question everyone asked me.  
  
"What's your name, boy?"  
  
I didn't understand how important names were then, and they didn't believe me when I told them I didn't know. So I stopped answering. Instead, I would shrug and stare at them until they got uncomfortable.  
  
I think I went about three months without a name of any kind. Everybody at social services called me "the boy" and the family I was placed with first did the same. They were nice, I guess, but I wasn't there for long. And every morning they would ask, "What's your name, boy?" And I would stare at them until they sighed or got irritated or walked away.  
  
The second place I stayed was with a young couple with a baby on the way. She didn't ask me what my name was. I guess the social services people explained it to her that I either didn't have one or wouldn't admit to it.  
  
I liked her. She didn't call me "boy," she called me "honey" or "sweetie" or "sugar."  
  
"Good morning, honey. What would you like for breakfast?" And then she would smile and fix me oatmeal or waffles or cereal and she would tell me everything we were going to do that day.  
  
I don't remember what he called me. I think he called me "kid." He was all right; I just don't think he knew how to deal with a kid who barely talked and didn't have a name.  
  
When she would go to the grocery store or to the gas station, she would always point out people by name. "That's Henry the bag boy." "That's Patricia, she works at the church."  
  
That's when I figured out that names were important. So I memorized every name she told me, and decided on meanings.  
  
Henry was old and always handled the groceries as if they were precious. I decided his name meant 'careful.' Patricia talked too much and over anyone else. I figured Patricia must mean 'loud.'  
  
Her name was Joanna, and that meant 'kindness.' His was Billy and it meant 'tall.'  
  
One day I was helping her paint the room that was going to be the nursery. Well, not exactly help, but I was stirring the paint. I remember she stopped in the middle of painting and rubbed her stomach.  
  
"Do you want to feel the baby?"  
  
She took my hand and put it over her stomach. I felt a thump against my hand, and I must have looked surprised, because she laughed.  
  
She leaned in close to me and said, "If it's a girl, I want to name her Joy."  
  
I turned the name over in my head. Joy. It felt good in my mouth.  
  
"What does it mean?"  
  
I think she was surprised to hear me say anything. I generally didn't talk at all, and when I did, it was just one or two words.  
  
She smiled. "It means happiness. Isn't that lovely?"  
  
"How do you know?" I'm still not sure what I meant. How did she know the meaning? Or maybe I wanted to know how she knew the baby was going to be happy. I don't know.  
  
But she just dusted herself off and went into her bedroom. She came back with a book.  
  
"Here." And she handed it to me. There was a picture of a baby on the front. "That's a book full of names. It has boys names, girls names, almost every name you could imagine. And it has the meaning of each name beside it."  
  
I remember I stared at the cover of that book for a long time.  
  
"I don't think I have a name."  
  
She just smiled and said, "Well, why don't we find one for you?"  
  
We sat down on the floor in the tiny nursery and went through that book name by name.  
  
"Adam?" I shook my head. Earth wouldn't work.  
  
"Basil?" No. I wasn't a king.  
  
"Caleb? "Carl?" Those weren't right either.  
  
After a while, it became a game. She would choose a name from the end of the alphabet, and I would chose one from the front.  
  
Zechariah, David, Xavier, Eric, Warren, Felix...none of them were right. Either the name sounded wrong in my mouth, or I didn't like the meaning.  
  
I think she was getting tired and everything was getting funny, because she started suggesting names like Elvis or Fergus.  
  
So, finally, she announced that she knew the perfect way to pick my new name. She closed her eyes, opened the book and pointed.  
  
Of course, it landed on Janet, which sent her off into gales of laughter. I think I even smiled. Yeah, I know. Shocking.  
  
She was still giggling when she tried again.  
  
"Michael." I looked at her, waiting for the meaning.  
  
She looked at me calmly. "Who is like God?" She said it just like that. She turned it into a question. "He is one of the archangels. He's a soldier."  
  
"Soldier." I liked that part. So Michael I became. Guerin, I think, was assigned to me. I don't remember staying with any Guerins.  
  
It took me a while to figure out that not every name fits the person who has it. I thought that if someone held that name, they would turn into the meaning, or maybe that the way they were was the reason they had that name. Or something, but it does make sense.  
  
So I picked my own name. I remember being surprised when I met up with Isabel and Max again later, that they didn't even know what their names meant. I do.  
  
Max means Great, which makes sense. He has a great life. He is in charge. He is Great.  
  
The thing that always gets me is that Isabel and Liz both have the same name. Elizabeth and Isabel both mean Consecrated to God. I think that makes sense too though, they are both perfect to most people, and perfect people should be dedicated to God. You know, raised on high?  
  
It's a habit now, I look up names when I meet people, or when I find a new name. Joanna gave me the baby name book when I left, but it was pretty old. I had to get a new copy not long ago. Not all of the names I heard were in there.  
  
Alex's name fits too. Defender of Mankind. Well, I know he would do anything in his power to protect Liz and Maria, so that makes sense.  
  
What you have to remember though, is that different books will give you different meanings.  
  
The first time I looked up Maria's name, I dropped the book.  
  
I like to think of the other meanings I've looked up. Rebellious. Wished for Child.  
  
See, that's how I know I'm bad for her. She's going to get hurt in the end. How can she not, with a name like Bitter Grief?  
  
So, I leave her alone.  
  
Me. Michael Wallace Guerin. Soldier Stranger Something.  
  
So, you see, you can learn a lot about a person, just from knowing their name.  
  
Names have power. 


End file.
